


Keeping It Under Wraps

by Spritesquared



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spritesquared/pseuds/Spritesquared
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Al prided himself on his natural talent for lying. His ability to look anyone in the eye and say whatever he wanted without a hint of dishonesty. So what was it about Clark’s eyes that made it so difficult?





	Keeping It Under Wraps

Originally, Al had marked down the day as a total success. He spent the entire day with Clark, went on a lovely dinner date, and ended with a movie at Clark’s apartment. Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end eventually. Al awoke in bed next to his boyfriend, shivering and aching. Already nauseous, his stomach dropped further as a prickly heat began growing behind his cheeks. Clumsily sneaking out of the bedroom, he stumbled down the hall and into the bathroom, barely making it in front of the toilet before emptying the contents of his stomach into it. After a few dry heaves, Al groaned angrily. It had to be now, didn’t it? His damn immune system couldn’t put up a better fight than this? He sighed and flushed away the evidence, determined to keep this a secret from Clark. Al could handle this himself. First things first, figure out what he’s dealing with. No use feeling his own forehead for a fever, he would need to find a thermometer. The medicine cabinet above the sink seemed a good place to start, but was filled mostly with differing medications, save the few odd toiletries peppered in. Al crouched down, ignoring the sudden dizziness and hoping the cabinet under the sink would yield better results, but to no avail. All that met his sight were small boxes and plastic tubs that would take all night to go through. And for something that might not be there? He didn’t have time.

Despite the failure of identifying his illness, he was better off simply moving on to step two: minimizing the symptoms. If he couldn’t figure out what he was dealing with, he was going to have to wing it. Luckily, Al had grown quite used to caring for himself over the years. Taking time to stand up, as not to make himself even dizzier than he was now, he began to search back through the medicine cabinet. Only a few things were needed; something to take care of his headache, something to settle his stomach, and perhaps something to help him sleep. But as he sorted through the medication, a moral dilemma presented itself. Normally, Al would have no problem stealing from someone, especially if it was just a few doses of cold medicine. But Clark probably needs all of this, even if it isn’t allergy medication. Taking it would be hurting Clark later. Sighing breathlessly, Al shut the medicine cabinet and clutched the edge of the sink in an effort to steady himself. All this worrying was quickly becoming exhausting, but maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed? He hadn’t yet taken the time to check his appearance; he might be able to get away with just going back to sleep. But as luck would have it, a quick look in the mirror dashed these hopes. His bangs were plastered down with sweat, his face was flushed, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. There was no going back to the bedroom in such a state, he would be found out in less than a second. He had to continue.

Fine, whatever. The tiny lettering on those bottles made it impossible to read them anyway. Swaying on his feet, he exited the bathroom and slowly made his way down the hall. God, was he this woozy when he first hobbled out of bed? Movement in general seemed to be taking an unnecessary amount of effort, but after a quick pause to catch his breath, he continued moving. Despite his pounding headache, the gears in his head began running faster. Al knew how to hide an illness, but he was going to need an excuse in case things went south. If Clark happened to wake up while he was still out here, he could simply say, “I thought I heard something, and wanted to check around. Y’know, just in case.” If he comments on Al’s sickly complexion, he could play it off as a joke or blame it on food poisoning. Happy with his answers, Al finally reached his destination: the kitchen. An ice pack could not only help soothe his headache, but could also bring down the fever he, admittedly, wasn’t sure he had. This part would be easy, a plastic bag, ice, and a dish towel. No stealing. No guilt. 

Fumbling around in the dark, it took longer than expected to construct the ice pack. But when it was finally done, (and the dropped ice cubes were kicked safely under the fridge,) Al placed the pack on his forehead, leaning his head forward against the fridge to keep it in place. Breathing a sigh of relief, he let his arms drop and tried to catch his breath once again. The frigid towel felt amazing, and if combined with a little willpower, he might be able to make this work. He just needed to stay upright for long enough to get back to bed. Then he could sleep soundly with the ice pack cooling him down, and as long as he woke up before Clark, he could get rid of the evidence. Al’s eyes shot open at that thought. What if he didn’t wake up before Clark? He had no believable excuse for the ice pack, Clark would know what was going on instantly. But getting more exhausted by the second, he couldn’t stay out here all night either; he might pass out. There had to be another way.  
His breathing became fast and ragged, as he straightened up and fearfully searched for a solution. He quickly grabbed the ice pack before it could fall; it was still important he lessen any indication of sickness. But it felt as though the more he thought, the worse he became. Breathing heavily brought attention to his throat still burning from vomiting earlier, his hands were shaking terribly, and though all his muscles were sore, his chest and gut were especially bad due to the dry heaving. It seemed the world was crashing down around him, and he barely had enough strength to stand. 

Al spun on his heel to rest his back against the fridge, and slowly slid down as he succumbed to exhaustion. No matter what he did now, it would hurt his relationship with his new boyfriend. Wake Clark up and ask for help? He’d be seen as a burden. Go back to the bedroom? Al had no idea if he was contagious. Sleep on the couch? Clark would be offended. Head home? Out of the question. He had no options, and it wasn’t until he heard the bedroom door open down the hall he realized he had been crying.


End file.
